HIGHBALLING IT TO HEAVEN
by KKBELVIS
Summary: Warning: Ding -Dong! Ding-Dong! It's not the Wicked Witch that's dead! *This is 'The Dreaded DEATH' STORY! Two major characters!* Summary: Even in death Sam and Dean do what they do best. Even in death there is no foreseeable end. Be brave - happy ending.


HIGHBALLING IT TO HEAVEN

By: Karen B.

 **Warning: Ding -Dong! Ding-Dong! It's not the Wicked Witch that's dead!**

 ***This is 'The Dreaded DEATH' STORY! Two major characters!***

 **Summary:** Even in death Sam and Dean do what they do best. Even in death there is no foreseeable end.

 **Disclaimer** : Not the owner

Each night I go to bed  
I pray the Lord my soul to keep  
No, I ain't lookin' for forgiveness  
But before I'm six foot deep  
Lord, I got to ask a favor  
And I'll hope you'll understand  
'Cause I've lived life to the fullest  
Let this boy die like a man  
Starin' down the bullet  
Let me make my final stand

 **~ Bon Jovi - Blaze Of Glory**

 **"You and me and dad...I want us to be together again. I want us to be a family again." ~ Dean Winchester.**

 **/~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~/**

There was a sense of numbness. A dead-of-winter silence as I floated in peaceful darkness until something I couldn't quite put a name to had my eyes flying open.

"Sam," I called weakly, the word automatically wrenching from my lips along with a glob of blood.

I got no answer.

Dazed, I squinted upward. How'd I get teleported here? When I clocked in on this hunt we were in an old barn. Now I lay beneath a sky that was too blue to describe, the sun shining brightly damn near blinding me.

I looked down. My gun was still in my hand and I was dizzy and nauseous.

"What the...shit," I cursed under my breath, suddenly remembering what the shit.

I never saw it coming. Everything had happened so fast. I took two shots, got no monster, and lots, and lots of blood, and a bone-cold body for the effort. Now I lay flat on my back in a puddle of that blood, while the monster Sam and I had been hunting had fled, unscathed.

"Son of a bitch." _This was supposed to be easy as pie._ My barely beating heart jumped into my throat remembering my brother hauling ass after the creature. Friggin' alone. "Damn you, Sammy," I panted, unable to do much else.

 _Death isn't going to keep me down_. "Not yet," I hissed, pushing the pickle chip-eating bastard aside. Nothing else mattered to me in the whole-wide world other than Sam. "Hold tight, buddy," I grunted struggling to roll onto my side and shaking all over. Drawing my gun closer I tried to stand, but my legs wouldn't move. "Damn it."

It took a moment, but I managed to inch up to an elbow and glanced all around.

To the right of me was the big red barn the bitch had been hiding out in. It was engulfed in flames, thick black smoke billowing out the sides. To my left Baby was parked safely away from the burning building, sparkling brightly in the sunshine from the awesome wax job I'd given her this morning. Straight ahead was a vineyard, and behind me was a large field full of nothing more than dirt. I shoved up to my feet, but Death kept the tension on the rope he had around my chest tight. My world fractured and I was knocked back down again, more blood spreading out underneath me.

"Just need to make sure Sammy's okay, then you can finish this nicely staged scene," I growled.

There came no sharp-tongued sarcasm. I listened harder, swearing I could hear Sam's footfalls racing through the vineyard. I stared deeper into the Grapes of Wrath with growing dread, willing my unfocused eyes to see something.

Only thing I saw was a pair of white doves perched on a twining branch seemingly staring intently right back at me.

"Huh?" I cocked my head curiously. Of all the death omens…birds seemed to be the most frequent. Those doves were waiting. "Shouldn't you two be black?" I frowned. Both birds cooed softly ruffling their wings and not taking their eyes off of me. "Mexican Standoff," I grit out between clenched teeth, and waved a hand at them. "Not before I know Sam's safe...then I'll...I'll kneel at your feet and you can do whatever."

Neither of the birds moved, and the pain in my side grew along with the tightness in my lungs. "Sam," I called out again in frustration and boiling anger.

The fiery crackle and hiss of the burning barn was my only reply.

"On your feet, Dean Winchester. Right the fudge now!" I sucked in as deep of a breath as I could willing my adrenaline to kick in and activate my paralyzed legs. Before it could, I heard something rustling, and shuffling through the vineyard. This time I knew for certain who's clomping, giant-sized feet those were - even in my mostly dead state.

"Sam? Where are you?" I steadied my gun, aiming at an opening between the twisted vines right where the doves were perched.

"Here," came the quick, although, hoarse reply.

"You okay?" I turned my head toward the sound of his voice, just barely able to make out Sam's shape staggering in and out of the thick grapevines.

"I got it," Sam rasped, still not in my full sight. "It's toast," he added breathlessly.

"And you sound like burnt toast," I said, half-serious, half-joking, still keeping my gun at the ready just in case. If something else even so much as danced in the wind I'd put a round in its friggin' head.

A second later my little brother's bulky form emerged from the ghostly-gray shadows of the grape field, causing the two perched birds to take flight as he brushed past them.

"Thank god," I whispered in relief.

As Sam zigzagged toward me, my relief faded. He was oddly bent to the right, sweaty, and quivering from head to toe.

"Hey, you okay?"

"I –" Sam stopped cold in his tracks a few feet away from me. I cringed noting his left hand was applying direct pressure to a large wound in his gut that did nothing at all to stop the heavy bleeding.

"Yeah, not okay," I spit, struggling to get to my feet, but still couldn't. I needed Sam by my side right now. "Sammy, get the hell over here so I can ring your neck for taking off alone like that," I gasped for air not realizing I'd been holding my breath all this time.

"You'd have done the same exact thing, D," he coughed, blood dripping out the corner of his mouth and winding a path slowly down his neck.

I pinned Sam with a hard stare. He knew that I knew that he was right. I would have done the same thing.

"Put the gun down. Told you, Dean...it's dead," he said, a satisfied grin on his face.

"Fine," I grunted in pain lowering my weapon. "Just friggin' get your sasquatch ass over here," I ordered again shivering hard.

"Fine." Sam nodded sadly looking straight through me as a tear rolled down his cheek. "Uh..." he muttered. "Not fine." His back tensed and then he collapsed like an accordion to the ground before ever taking a step.

"Sammy." I rolled flat to my belly, determine to get to him. Alternating a hand on one side, knee on the other, I dragged myself forward in a classic army crawl taking my gun along for the ride.

Sam was still with it enough to do the same, though his first pull forward was a scoot backward.

"Forward, kid," I urged.

"Good idea," Sam moaned, only able to use one side of his body. Pushing off with one knee and one arm as he made his way toward me.

"Atta boy, buddy," I grunted encouragement, blinking back my own tears.

Neither of us dared to take our eyes off the other, both leaving a trail of Winchester blood in the dirt as we pulled toward one another. My arms felt like pins and needles and the wound in my side flared red-hot. I could only imagine Sam's pain. When I was finally close enough my little brother reached up and grasped my shoulder with his bloody left hand.

Sam's skin immediately turned pale and bluish, his finger no longer in the damn.

"Dean," he huffed out as his hand slipped away from my shoulder and his forehead thumped against mine.

"Man, we both got throttled," I stated the obvious staring into his dull looking eyes.

"No kidding." Sam swallowed down hard and staring back.

Neither of us had the strength to do anything else but stay flat on our belly's, forehead to forehead, inhaling each other's harsh breaths.

Things began to get strangely crystal clear. I could feel the earth move beneath us. The wind whistled through the treetops and brightly colored autumn leaves fluttered down around us like a snowstorm. The sound of the dry crackling barn sounded like music. Everything was interwoven and laced together by a thin thread. Everything was connected. And though our lives had been one long bitch of a storm… I could see a rainbow roaring in.

"Love you, man," Sam broke into my thoughts

"What?" I screeched feebly, eyes popping wide.

"Love you, D'," he let out a long breath and his eyes rolled up, head slipping off to one side.

"Dude, don't want to hear that chick flick crap." Surprisingly my legs decided to work just then and I was moving. Getting as far as up on my knees. I grabbed hold of Sam and pulled his limp body into a bear hug, squeezing the life back into him. "Breathe! Damn you, Sam, breathe!" I shook him hard, his arms dangling useless at his sides.

Sam must have heard me because he drew in a sharp breath and started to cough, spitting up some blood. "Hurts," he moaned, but didn't make a move.

"I know. I know." I eased him back, gripping his face between my hands and held him steady.

"Glad you're here," he said weakly, a floppy blood-coated hand fumbling up to the back of my neck, gentle fingers lacing into my hair and taking a strong hold.

"Don't get Glad…get Hefty." I glared at him.

"Quit joking around, Dean. We're…we're not going to make it," he said, with a grim smile." With his other hand, Sam drew his gun out of some mystery hiding spot and tossed it.

The pistol landed in a mud puddle with a shallow plop.

"Sam! That's weapon's abuse," I scolded. "We go blazing, little brother. Here." I pressed my firearm into Sam's free hand clasping mine over top his. "You can be Sundance," I said with conviction, feeling my own life slipping away.

Sam drew in a long, deep breath turning his face up toward the sun. I could see the wheels in his head spinning.

"Dude?" I slurred, the crisp, sweet smell of fermenting grapes mixed in with the burning wood had an odd, lazy effect on my senses.

"Not dying with a gun in our hands, Dean," Sam glared back at me. "Not dying like soldiers."

"Hunters," I corrected.

"Just no." Sam tried to pull his hand away from my gun, but I wouldn't let him.

"Dude. Unbelievable. You're going to argue this now?" I gasped, tasting blood in my mouth. "Not to be a bitch or anything, but yes, Sam! We are. We die with a gun… this gun since yours is -" I gestured with a toss of my chin toward the muddy puddle. "That is how a Winchester goes out," I coughed, holding tighter to the weapon.

"Please," Sam's vague look cleared. "Dean, please."

"What then?" I questioned, completely confused.

"We die like brothers," he demanded, and I swore I could feel his heart drumming a slow beat in his chest when he looked back at me. "Together."

A shadow fell across the area. The doves were back, landing in a nearby tree.

Sam stared with hate down at the gun between us. The gun dad had put there all those years ago when our lives were shattered and we started this war. "The gun was never the weapon, Dean," Sam assured. "We are." He shook his head. "We were. I mean...we are all that matters now."

Everything blurred together, the horror and loss of all the years and friends and family. It all went whirling around in my head in a flash of thunder and lightning.

It was true.

The only thing that had ever mattered in this life was family, blood and none blood alike.

Family was the reason for being…the reason for all of this screwed up bullshit. And we were all there was left. I always knew this moment would come. A gun in my hand wasn't the last thing on earth I wanted to touch. Guns and hate and revenge were the very thing that brought us to this point. We shouldn't be dying before we hit 40. We should have lived long and normal lives. We should both be married. With, kids, and grandkids, and great grandkids, wearing wet Depends, and crying about busted backs, sitting in rocking chairs.

I glanced at the Impala only a few short yards away, then back at my brother's face. "You always were the philosophical one."

"Guess I'm just fussy that way," Sam admitted freely and shrugged, holding back a grimace of pain.

"Yeah you are." I patted his cheek fondly.

"Think we can make it back to her?"

"We'll make it…or die trying," I gave a tired snort.

"Seriously, jerk?" Sam didn't seem like he wanted to move.

"Come on, bitch," I encouraged, grasping a handful of jacket and yanking him up. "Let's go home."

We slung our arms around each other and it was hard to tell who was holding who up, little wet puffs of air coming from both of us. One boot in front of the other we fought with all we had left to help each other back to Baby.

Soon we were inside the car, Sam sitting shotgun, me behind the wheel. I'd even managed to snag us each a beer from the cooler in the back seat, though my hands shook like a son of a bitch. I could feel the cold creeping through my veins, and knew it was only a matter of time before it wrapped around my heart and it would stop once and for all.

We'd stood shoulder to shoulder through so much, through gunfire and drunken nights and raging anger and good times…all in the name of family.

Sitting here inside the Impala beside Sammy…it was perfect. It was where we belonged and I wasn't worried. Somehow this time, Death wasn't so ominous and we wouldn't be bargaining our way out.

Knowing that brought a sort of peace.

"Here's to us," Sam choked bringing his bottle up to meet mine, a smile plastered to his face.

"I'll drink to that," I said as I clinked my beer against his, our fingers grazing.

Sam raised his bottle to his lips and took a tiny sip, barley having the energy to swallow.

I drank deeply, emptying half the bottle before I started sputtering and had to stop. "This has to be the best B.M. in history," I laughed softly.

"Gross," Sam grouched, shaking badly, his oxygen being sucked away. He leaned his head back against the seat and stared out the front windshield. It wouldn't be much longer for my little brother, his breath nearly gone and eyes staring off in the distance faraway from here. It was going to hurt beyond words to watch him take his last breath before mine.

"Where…wherever we end up…" Sam's words were breathy and shallow.

"Heaven, Sammy," I guaranteed, reaching over to pull him across the seat until he flopped against me, his head nestled under my chin. "I've got you're back."

"Always was your job." Sam said, his voice tiny and washed out.

"And your job is to shut up," I growled. He was slipping away before me. Anger and rage mixed with helplessness and I had to fight to keep calm. Everything in me was telling me not to let him go.

Sam gave a weak moan. "Dean." His voice was barely there. "We can't …fight…forever." He gave a pathetic shoulder shrug.

I drew in a deep breath, and the smell of tostados filled the air. Looking into the rearview mirror, snarky eyes stared back at me. Death was there, bleeding us pale. I did my best. But my best wasn't good enough once more.

"Damn it." I slammed the heel of my palm to the steering wheel shaking my head. Tears were coming. I forced them back. No tears. No tears. I wouldn't cry a tear, it would be admitting the end, and it was never the end. "We're fighters. You fight. We fight. We win."

"Not about winning or losing." Sam slowly raised his hand to cover mine that was still gripping the steering wheel, but he didn't have the strength. I grabbed hold of his hand before it could fall away and placed it on the wheel, wrapping my fingers over the top of his we held tight to Baby.

"What's it all about then?" I grouched.

Sam's breaths were now coming in cracked, long stretches that were too far apart to sustain life for much longer. "'bout how we played the game…we played good…fought hard…it's over. Need it to be over, Dean. Promise… please." Sam gave my hand a small squeeze. "Together this time," he whispered.

Something clicked inside and my anger drained, the fight going out of me, my mouth going dry.

"You are an –"Sam's beer bottle fell out of his grasp, no longer having the strength enough to hold it, the nearly full bottle spilling all over the floorboards. "Awesome big brother," he muttered, his hand flopping lethargically to the seat.

Sam turned to me, the anguish I saw in his eyes not entirely physical.

"And you're a pain in my ass." I let my beer fall next to his. "I promise." I looked out the window at the setting sun, listening to Sam's breathing change and slow, feeling my own pulse thinning, but being diligent in keeping both our hands on the wheel.

"Dean." A bubbling gurgle came to the back of Sam's throat as he struggled to stay with me.

"Go, I ordered in my best 'dad' voice. "Go, Sam. I'll be right there." A single tear pooled in the corner of my eye. "Sam." I turned and held his gaze – steady and sure. "Go on. Let go. I'm right behind you. I swear," I said, lying my ass off.

Sam was going to heaven. He deserved it. I was pretty damn sure I wouldn't be there, but knew he'd hold on longer than he had to if I didn't swear.

His lips were blue, and his teeth chattered, his body shaking violently. "That's crap," he whispered weakly.

"What?"

"You…you're a good man, Dean, so stop lying. You're highballing it to heaven too." Eyes at half-mast, Sam lifted his head up closer so he could see me better. "Not going until you go."

"Dude!" I scolded with all the strength I had left, which wasn't much. "Neither one of us is in any shape to play paper, scissors, rock." I gave a steely glare.

Sam glared back with a mix of regret and frustration. His eyes took on a faraway glint and his head wobbled, then flopped back against me as he struggled to breathe. "Yeah, okay…I'll go first." He nodded.

"Crap," I choked on a sob, raising my fist. I wasn't ready to let him go. "Two out of three," I urged.

Sam's hand fluttered weakly underneath mine on the steering wheel. "Now who's the pain in the ass," He chuckled weakly just as a shadow passed over the car, and with it came a cold breeze floating through the open window.

"See you later," Sam let out a long heavy breath and I waited for him to take in another, but he didn't.

"Sammy?" I bent to peer into his eyes. They were open and empty. "Sam," I growled biting back my gut reaction to shake him crazily. Stimulate him to breathe. But I didn't. I let him go. It was the last thing I could do for my brother.

This wasn't exactly the Butch and Sundance, Blaze of Glory exit I'd always envisioned, but when did things ever go our way?

I closed my eyes as my own life rushed away from me.

Death was silent and calm. I embraced it…knowing hell wouldn't be.

/~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Dean."

"Hmmmm?"

"We're here."

Scowling, I tried to remember where we were headed to last? A gaudy motel room, or a cockroach infested bar? Or maybe it was a dark, cold, cemetery we were in. Sure didn't feel like I was standing six-feet down surrounded by mud, dirt, and stench? No. Not stench. The aroma floating around me was more the usual every day aroma of custom leather, hot motor oil, and beer. We were still in the Impala bleeding out.

"Dean, it's okay. We made it."

It hit me like a concrete block to the head. We didn't make it. No way. We died. Sammy should have grown wings and I should have grown horns. And Baby...she was supposed to have beat the rust-bucket salvage yard odds and survived. She should be tucked safely away at the Smithsonian. Displayed in all her historic, awesome glory in her very own special room on a rotating disc under the spotlight.

"Sam! Not okay! You're not supposed to be here. Baby shouldn't be here, man." I winced still unable to open my eyes. They seemed glued shut.

"What are you talking about, man?"

"You and her deserve the best," I choked back a sob. "And that's exactly what you're getting, Sam," I growled wiggling about and still trying to pry my eyes open but knowing without fail we were still inside the Impala.

"We both...we all get," Sam whispered. "Dean. It's amazing," Sam nudged me with an elbow. "Check it out."

"Dude," I squeezed my eyes shut tighter. "A naked beach in Tahiti is amazing…this is hellfire and –"

"Jerk." Sam backhanded my chest. "Just open your eyes."

Finally blinking my eyes open, I sluggishly turned Sam's way.

"Looks like we made it," Sam smiled brightly at me.

"Made it where, Manilow? This was supposed to be a solo mission." I scowled, feeling royally pissed. "You don't belong in hell with me."

"Apparently neither do you," Sam rolled his eyes, sweeping an excited hand out in front of him.

I turned to look. "What the…" I sat up bolt straight leaning forward over the steering wheel and peering out over a wide-open canyon. My vision was still fuzzy, but I could tell it had to be noon, the sun high in the sky. "High noon," I muttered, cocking my head in confusion. "Cliché." I stared at the small patches of white clouds that slowly drifted on by. Some were shaped like hamburgers others were shaped like pie and beyond them shined what I could only assume were the pearly gates to heaven. "Where's the spitfire hell roast?" I blurted out in shock.

"Dude, only roasting that's going to happen here is the soft and gooey marshmallows on a pointy stick kind."

I shook my head and blinked hard several times. "How's this even possible?"

"Dean. How's it not?" Sam answered my question with a question.

Shadows swept over the arches and rafters of the intricately shaped rock that made up a complex series of steep slopes and outcrops.

"Is this…" I checked the rearview mirror seeing more of the same, and a sparkling rainbow to boot. We were literally smack-dab in the middle of it all on top a high plateau. I swallowed hard. "This is –"

"The Grand Canyon," Sam dropped a hand to my shoulder and gave a strong squeeze.

"No hellhounds. No screaming. No ripping of flesh." I frowned in confusion, unwilling to take my eyes off the majesty of it all. "I take a wrong turn?"

"It's heaven, Dean, our heaven."

"Ha!" I snorted in surprise. "Thought your version of heaven was a lonely cabin smelling of wet dog and pork rinds?" I frowned.

"How about you?" Sam reached over and peeled my jacket back, staring at my chest. "No 'I wuv hugs' tee-shirt stained with peanut butter and jelly?"

I looked Sam over. Really looked him over. "Or blood," I muttered. Sam wasn't in pain, bleeding, or dead. Well, okay, he was dead. But he looked damn good, happy. The color was back in his cheeks, eyes bright, and the smile on his face was one that I didn't ever recall seeing.

A shining light took both our attention back out the front windshield. The sun grew brighter and warmer, rays blazing down over the jagged red rocks. A purple-gray mist appeared, and out of the fog flew the two white doves.

They fluttered down right in front of the Impala and transformed into human form.

Sam and I both choked out a sob in unison.

Mom and dad stood linked arm-in-arm and smiling with pride at us.

Mom was beautiful. She was dressed all in white, her hair gently blowing in the breeze.

Dad was dressed in a blue plaid flannel and worn-out blue jeans looking as rugged as ever. Only difference was his whiskers were flecked with more gray than I'd remembered.

Sam and I looked at each other in a blend of excitement and disbelief, and then quickly exited the car coming to stand in front of them.

I looked to dad and it was as if I was that obedient little boy again. I opened my mouth to tell him that I was sorry. That I had done the best I could, but still failed to keep Sam safe, and how I hadn't even come close to filling his shoes.

But John Winchester was a quick draw and he beat me to the punch. "That's my men. You're so much more than I ever was," he said soft and gently, all the emotional hardcore armor he'd carried in life stripped away. He turned to Sam, and said, "You're stronger than I ever was… both of you… I'm so proud."

Sam opened and closed his mouth three times. Little brother's usual quick wit wasn't working either.

"Sam, Dean," Mom beamed. "You're home." She stepped forward tiptoeing up to kiss each of us on the cheek. And before we knew it we were wrapped in a group hug, Dad holding us all in close.

"Let's get them home, John," Mom said.

"You boys ready?"

"Ready for what?" Sam and I both found our voices at the same time.

"We've got a cranky old man slaving in a hot kitchen over a pot of kitchen sink stew. He's been expecting us for hours."

"Bobby"?" Sam and I chimed in, shooting each other an excited look.

"Bobby," Dad confirmed, stifling a laugh.

"Yes, sir!" We both bounced on the balls of our feet at attention.

"My boys," Mom whispered drawing us all together.

Thunder rolled in and in a flash of lighting we were falling through the clouds. My heart was pounding in my chest. Before we knew it, Sam and I found ourselves standing in the salvage yard. Staring straight at the same old house we spent so much of our lives in. Only it wasn't the same. It was worlds away from the dusty clay-packed junkyard we used to play in as kids.

Instead, Sam and I stood on a lawn of freshly cut, lush green grass, the house no longer stripped down to wood planks, but instead painted a fresh country-blue, with white trim. The uneven porch steps leading up to the kitchen were fixed up nice, the screen door flapping lazily in the wind.

We both turned and looked to mom and dad expectantly.

"Go. He's been waiting." Dad waved us forward.

Sammy and I smiled at each other, and like a couple of kids we tore up the back steps of Bobby's porch, the screen door banging shut behind us.

The entire kitchen was seriously clean. Scrubbed to shining and smelled of homemade bread and fresh baked apple pie.

"Karen, they're here." Bobby whirled around from where he stood, a couple of cold ones in his hand. "About cotton-picking ass time you two idjits showed up… soup's cold."

The happy end.


End file.
